


The Muggleborn and the Pea

by LadyKenz347



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Once Upon A Time, Smut, TMM Fairy Tale Fest, fairy tale, no Voldemort AU, princess and the pea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 19:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20069653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/pseuds/LadyKenz347
Summary: In an attempt to charm Draco's parents, Hermione pretends to come from a Pureblood family for an evening. Narcissa has her own means of uncovering the truth.Spin on Princess and the Pea for The Mourning Madame's Once Upon a Time Fest.No Voldy AU





	The Muggleborn and the Pea

**A/N: Welcome to my little spicy version of the Princess and the Pea. This was written as a response to a prompt from The Mourning Madame and her Fairy Tale Fest! Hope you enjoy my Dramione rendition, it was fun messing with it a bit to get it here!**

**This is a no-Voldy AU.**

**Alpha Love: ** **MCal **

**Beta Babe:** ** Ravenslight**

XXXXX

Even with the forewarning owl sent by Draco to inform her that a rainstorm was due in Wiltshire, Hermione still thought it best to Apparate to Malfoy Manor. There was something quite proper about knocking on the door the first time you were meant to meet your boyfriend's parents, rather than stumbling through their private Floo covered in soot and ash. 

He was, however, unfortunately correct. 

The rain pelted against her wavering umbrella charm with heavy drops that fell in a sheet over her head, soaking her curls until they were nearly straight down her back. The remnants of her futile attempt at makeup were streaking down her cheeks in black lines, and her pretty buttercream sundress was drenched to the point of improper, clinging to her like a slip. 

What was more frustrating than meeting Draco’s parents resembling a drowned rat was the inevitable cocky smirk that would grace his lips when he opened the door. 

She jogged up the steps and rapped her knuckles against the grand double doors. They opened to her almost immediately, and a tiny house-elf with round eyes answered the door.

“Miss Granger!” the elf squeaked, his ears tucking back as he peered up at her. “Dobby, at your service.” He then ducked into a bow so deep that his nose brushed the tile, and Hermione smiled kindly at him. 

“How do you do?” Hermione dipped her head slightly and extended her hand to greet the elf properly. Dobby’s eyes blew wide as he stared at her outstretched hand, and a tremble rocked gently through him. 

“You’re going to get Dobby in trouble,” a familiar drawl sounded from the far side of the room, and her lips quirked at the noise. “Dobby, it’s fine. You can shake Miss Granger’s hand.”

Knotted fingers wrapped around hers, and the elf's mouth fell open in awe as Hermione’s grasp closed around him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dobby. I hear that your butterscotch chocolate cake is what dreams are made of; Draco speaks of nothing else.” 

At that, the small elf’s chest swelled with pride and a grin formed on his thin, almost non-existent, lips. “I will be happy to make you one tonight, Miss. Dobby is off to do so now! Unless Mister Draco will be needing me?”

“No, no, Dobby. If it means that I get a slice of your decadent cake, I’m sure I can handle Miss Granger all on my own.” A wicked smirk pulled at Draco’s features as he crossed the large foyer. Hermione’s mouth went dry as she appreciated him in all his aristocratic glory. 

Truthfully, his Hogwarts robes didn’t do him justice. The wizard had impeccable taste that was limited by his uniform, even though he did have them sent to his personal tailor to make sure they were fitted exactly for him. Tonight, he wore simple charcoal trousers and a white oxford; the sleeves were rolled until they kissed just beneath his elbow, and the top few buttons of his shirt were undone. He probably considered it his casual outfit, though most Muggles would never dream of walking around their home like this. 

_ Muggles.  _

But she wasn’t supposed to be familiar with Muggles tonight; she wasn’t even a Muggle-born. At least, that’s what they had practiced a dozen times before leaving school. 

It was Hermione who had insisted on the lie; it just made everything so much easier. Her last name was unknown, and unless the Malfoys were truly suspicious, they would need to track down her ancestry through her birth records—which were locked away at a Muggle records office in Surrey. 

Draco resisted, ready to forego his trust and his family and throw everything away just to call her his. But honestly, what a ridiculous thing to do. He could have both, and she loved him enough to want him to have it all— even if that meant telling a small, white lie to his conservative, and perhaps a bit archaic, parents. 

He stopped when they were nearly toe-to-toe, and she breathed in the scent of him; it was familiar and comforting all at once. 

“You look—” His mouth puckered as a teasing grin threatened to slip past. “—breathtaking.”

“You’re such a prat,” she huffed. “Show me to the bathroom, please. I want to freshen up before—”

“Ah! Miss Granger.” Behind Draco, two elegantly clothed figures appeared through the grand arc to the left, and she cursed under her breath. 

She must have looked quite the sight: long, weeping curls and a blotchy face. 

Instead of allowing her nerves to take over, she fixed a bright smile on her face as Draco turned to stand next to her, wrapping his arm around her slender waist and pulling her forward. She wondered if he could feel the way her heels dug into the marble floor, begging for purchase. 

“Mister and Missus Malfoy.” She smiled pleasantly. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I do apologize for my…” She looked down to see the nearly translucent material of her dress clinging to her torso, a blush creeping up her neck. “Well, for my appearance. I should have thought to check the weather.” 

Next to her, Draco scoffed, his eyes rolling obnoxiously back in his skull, and she delicately jabbed her elbow into his ribs before he could speak. 

Her previous excited, albeit nervous, energy transformed to dread as she took in the stern and amused expressions of the Malfoys. Narcissa’s perfectly manicured eyebrow sat high on her forehead, and Hermione could see the white of her knuckles as she clutched to her husband's elbow. Lucius, on the other hand, had his chin so severely tipped that his only vantage point of looking at her was to stare down his pointy nose. 

The pair of them together was rather… imposing. 

With a gulp, Hermione patted down her soaked curls and managed a small curtsey. That may have been a mistake however because Narcissa seemed to be cataloging any errors that she had surely made—mistakes a true pure-blood would never have made. 

Her back wasn’t perfectly straight, and had she kicked her toes out far enough? Then again, was any of that important when she looked the way she did?

“Miss Granger,” Narcissa greeted her in a cool tone. “Please, let me show you to your room for the evening so that you might…” There was a slight tightening to the woman’s eyes. “Freshen up.” 

“That would be lovely. Truly, I am sorry about the mess, I—funnily enough—was trying to avoid looking a fright by stepping through your Floo. My hair is a magnet for soot.” Hermione chuckled brightly. 

“What is a magnet?” Lucius asked, his lips puckered as if he’d sucked on a rancid lemon. 

“Oh! It’s—” Muggle. She’d been about to explain that it was Muggle, but thankfully the words caught in her throat. “Just a silly contraption I used to play with as a child.” 

Lucius’ silver eyes flashed before he looked away with a bored countenance. “I will see you for drinks in the parlour at five o’clock, Miss Granger. I do hope that’s enough time for you to make yourself presentable.” 

Hermione’s head cocked back as if someone had just invisibly slapped her. Merlin, she must truly look ghastly if everyone was so interested in her being put together again. 

“This way.” Narcissa’s shrill voice rang, and she began climbing the grand staircase with practiced grace. 

The Manor itself was quite stunning, if a little darker than she imagined an English estate. All the wood decor was nearing a particular shade of ebony, and tapestries were woven with deep, rich gem tones; plum, ruby, and emerald seemed to be the house favorites. 

The portraits on the wall stared curiously at her as she made her way down the hall, Draco at her side as she nearly tripped on Narcissa’s sweeping robes. A few even stopped what they were doing to openly gape at her, one even whispering in a too-loud voice that he could see the girl’s knickers. Hermione’s face turned as red as the carpet at that comment. 

“Ah, here you are.” Narcissa stopped abruptly, and Hermione very nearly slammed into her back, making a disgruntled noise as Draco tugged her back into his side. “Draco, see that your—” Narcissa’s nose wrinkled as she spoke “— _ friend _ is content with her quarters. We’ll expect you both at five o’clock sharp. You know how your father gets if he has to wait for his firewhisky.” Narcissa sighed, patting down her immaculate chignon. 

“Father doesn’t wait for a firewhiskey unless he’s sleeping, Mother. He had two fingers just thirty minutes ago—”

“Draco!” Narcissa chastised with a cluck of her tongue. “Can I put it more plainly? Do. Not. Be. Late," she scolded. "And for Merlin’s sake, put on a dinner jacket; you look like you’re going to a brothel.” Her icy stare once again trailed down Hermione’s form, and at this point, the curly-haired witch was starting to get frustrated. 

_ She got it _ . Fully understood. She was now aware that she was dressed like a floozy trollop made to walk on the indecent side of town. They could stop at any time with the thinly veiled sneers. 

“See you at five, Mother.” Draco stepped forward, keeping his hand securely on Hermione’s lower back, and kissed his mother briefly on the cheek. 

Narcissa brightened at the gesture and then turned to offer Hermione a final pitying grimace before turning back the way they’d come. 

When his mother was far enough away, Draco let out a sigh and pushed the door open for Hermione to step through. 

She felt a little starstruck as she entered the opulent guest room. It was nothing like the rest of the home. Everything was covered in cream and gold, the bed was draped in ivory chiffon on all four sides, and the mattresses—

Hermione froze, her gaze darkening on the bed. There were at least five mattresses stacked on the four-poster bed frame. 

“What on earth, Draco? Why are there so many?”

With a laugh, Draco slipped behind her, wrapping his arms around her middle as she stared at the bed set in bewilderment. For what purpose could one person need quite so many mattresses?

“I don’t pretend to know the inner workings of my mother’s terrible and fascinating mind,” he chuckled into the crook of her neck, his fingers dragging her back into him. 

“It’s… it’s ridiculous. How on earth am I supposed to get up there?” The top mattress was nearly at her eye level. She’d need to crawl up there if she wanted to sleep—and then pray to Merlin she didn’t tumble off and crack her nose. 

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out. If I have my say in it, you won’t be sleeping in this bed anyway,” he mumbled into her curls, and she felt his length stiffen against her bum. 

“You are horrid.” She laughed, pushing him away from her as she moved towards the mirror. She sat at the vanity and flinched; she looked as dreadful as everyone kept alluding to. “You can manage without sex for a single night, Draco Malfoy.” 

“ _ Can I _ ?” he bemoaned miserably. “Because I actually haven’t seen you since term ended nearly a week ago.” 

He appeared quietly in the reflection behind her, and his fingers trailed along her collarbone and then down to the soft curve of her breast. Without thinking, she arched into his touch, and a breathy noise escaped her. 

“And if you’re asking if I can go a week without you, the answer is no.” His long fingers filled with the weight of her breast, and Hermione’s thighs pressed together at his rough touch. 

She could blame him all she wanted, but the truth of the matter was that she wanted him just as desperately as he wanted her. Six days was too many. 

“I can’t be playing your games, Draco Malfoy,” she breathed as she leaned back, allowing his fingers to slide up the column of her throat. “If I’m not decent in one hour your parents will likely have me sent to your dungeons—” She paused, her face screwed up in thought. “Do you have dungeons?” 

“Eh.” Draco shrugged, sliding his hand through the top of her dress and finding her nipple easily. “It’s more of a cellar—same general vibe though. Probably where they’d send you if you showed up in such a salacious outfit again.” 

Hermione’s eyes snapped open, her jaw falling open in shock. “ _ Salacious? _ It’s a sundress, for crying out loud.”

“To my parents, it may as well have been your knickers.” He snickered, and Hermione quickly removed his hand from her breast and rose to stand. 

“Why on earth wouldn’t you tell me that? I didn’t know that I was to wear my dress robes or funeral attire for crying out loud. Circe, she thinks  _ you’re _ underdressed and you look like you’re going to the bloody theater.” Hermione groaned loudly, dropping her face into her palms. 

Draco chuckled softly, dragging her into his arms and rubbing small circles on her exposed back with his palm. “You’re doing fine, love. Would it help you to know that it doesn’t matter if you dressed like the Queen of England, they still wouldn’t like you?” 

“That’s just the point, isn’t it? Parents adore me, Draco. I’m responsible, kind, well read, and I’m not a showboat like everyone else in my damn house. They should like me.”

Draco’s forefinger rested under her chin, tilting her face up to him and staring at her intently. “Honestly, I don’t know why you care if they do. I happen to  _ love _ you, and I think that ought to be enough.” 

“Is it so wrong that I want everyone to like me?” Her jaw quivered with unwelcome emotion, and Draco’s thumb pressed against the corner of her mouth. 

“Of course not, love. I just want them to like  _ you _ , not this version of you that you’re creating for them. I don't care if your Mugg—” 

‘ _ Shhh _ !” she hissed, swatting him on the chest with a flat palm. “I don't want  _ anyone _ to hear that word. I am Hermione Granger, orphaned after a potions accident, a lesser-known pure-blood. Okay?” It wasn’t all that far from the truth. Her parents had passed away from a car accident her first year, God rest them, and she’d been managing life mostly on her own since then. She had little family save a grandmother living in Paris. Other than that, her family was at Hogwarts. Her summer and holidays were spent at the Burrow and Harry’s home in Godric’s Hollow. 

Draco sighed but agreed with a nod of his head. “Okay, Granger.” His lips pressed into her forehead, and Hermione felt herself relax for the first time since she’d stepped foot on the estate property. 

XXXXX

The parlour boasted large, floor to ceiling windows, and as Narcissa entered the room, she found her husband silhouetted against the rainstorm, drinking from a tumbler of firewhisky. 

“Well?” he asked, barely turning his chin towards his wife as she made her way to his side. 

“I still maintain the witch is not of pure blood, Lucius. Did you see how she acted? And that  _ curtsey _ ! Not to mention showing up in undergarments like a one galleon whore. Oh, I do hope the Greengrasses don’t take their offer back,” Narcissa fretted, smoothing non-existent wrinkles from her satin robes, and she snatched the glass from her husband's hands, downing it in a single gulp. 

“I meant, did you put it under the mattress?” Lucius clipped, returning his gaze to the sideways rain making mush of the garden soil. 

Narcissa snorted, turning for the drink cart and filling two glasses before returning to his side. “Of course, dear. The Pea is rather strong dark magic though, from what my grandmother said. If she’s a Mudblood and it touches her skin, she’ll probably writhe on the floor in pain as if we’d cast a  _ Crucio _ on the little twit. But under all those mattresses? Well, suffice it to say, we should know by morning if Draco has been lying to us about her parentage.”

Lucius hummed his approval. “And if she’s half?”

“Any part of the girl that has dirty blood will thrash under the effects of The Pea,” Narcissa reassured him. “We only have to wait.” 

“Ah, and patience never was your most admirable virtue.” Lucius’s pale brow rose as he stared down at his wife with a teasing smile, and she nearly chuckled. Nearly. 

“Well, that doesn’t mean I won’t be asking questions at dinner. There are some things a mother ought to know—and one of them is what kind of succubus has ensnared my sweet baby boy.” 

“Agreed, dear.” Lucius clinked his crystal glass against his wife’s, and they both took a drink, neither one wincing as it burned the lining of their throat. 

XXXXX

Hermione stared at the gown hanging on the wardrobe for a long time. She had a plush robe wrapped around her, fighting the chill of the large room after a scalding hot shower. While the clock was dwindling persistently towards five o’clock, Hermione had yet to change. 

Her hair had been charmed and was now dry, maybe a bit more volume than she preferred, but she hadn’t thought to bring her slew of hair products for a single overnight. Her makeup had been dutifully applied yet again, and the only remaining step was to dress. 

But how on earth could she be expected to wear a full evening gown to dinner with her boyfriend's parents? It’s not that the robes weren’t lovely; any witch in the world might jump at the chance to wear such a fine garment, but they were definitely not her. 

The fabric was the distinct shade of a sapphire, and the entirety of it was smooth satin with sharp lines. The sleeves would reach her wrists, and the fabric cinched tightly along the bodice until it flared at her knee. It was lovely and mostly modest. 

Mostly. 

The neckline was almost a halved mock turtleneck, rising up to the center of her neck before plunging—and she  _ meant _ plunging—down near her belly button. The exposed trail of skin was thin, barely there, and not truly enough to show anything lewd, so what was the point of it at all?

She heard Draco’s footsteps behind her as she remained frozen, inspecting the dress with a narrowed glare. Again, he appeared in the reflection behind her, and she finally tore her gaze away to admire him in his black dress robes, a perfect bow tie sitting at his collar. 

“Do you always dress like this for dinner?” she whined, shifting her weight back and forth as she again stared at the dress hanging in front of her. 

Draco stepped into her, wrapping his fingers around her robe-clad hips and digging his fingers into her skin painfully. “Only on the weekends,” he allowed. “Although, I think once I’m head of this estate, I might request that you only wear bathrobes to dinner.” 

“Hah! And why is that?” Hermione asked, leaning back into him. 

He answered by slipping his hand to the tie at her waist, yanking it open and exposing her lacy black undergarments in the mirror. His resounding groan was muffled by her curls. 

Slipping his hands over her bare stomach and skimming the sides of her breasts, he pushed the terry cloth from her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet. 

A hot blush crept over her skin at being so exposed while he stood there in his full dress robes, but despite her nervousness, she felt her slick pool in her knickers. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered into her ear, and a shiver worked its way up her spine. Draco’s fingers trailed up her back then across her neck. His touch lingered before filling his hands with the weight of her breasts, and she couldn’t help but arch into his touch, her arse pressing into his erection. 

“Draco, we have to go,” she said breathlessly, her eyes fluttering closed, as one hand slid from her breast and dipped under the waistband of her knickers. 

“We have a few minutes,” he purred. “Fuck, you’re already so wet love. Did you miss me too?” 

Hermione whimpered like a cat in heat, her hips disobeying her logic as she bucked into his touch. She could feel his smirk along her shoulder as the pad of his finger sat just at the entrance of her sex. When she tried again to rotate her hips to just garner a bit of pressure, his other hand shot to hip to stall her. 

“Open your eyes for me, Granger.” 

With another little simpering noise, she obeyed, her gaze focusing on the pair of them in the mirror. There was something hot and almost lecherous about watching the impeccably well-dressed wizard behind her, teasing her while she stood in her knickers. 

She watched her reflection gasp, her arms shooting back to wrap around his neck as he plunged his fingers inside of her, curling to tickle that spot in her that made her knees buckle. One solid arm banded around her waist, supporting her weight as he mercilessly fucked her with his fingers, the palm of his hand pressing delightfully onto her throbbing clit. 

The walls of her sex clenched on his fingers as her orgasm washed over. 

“Good girl,” he praised into her ear, and she whimpered as he slid his soaked fingers from her folds. “Hurry up and get dressed,” he said brightly, swatting her bum playfully. “Wouldn’t want to be late, would we?”

The change in his tone and demeanor from the lust-filled wizard moments before left her head swimming. “Wh-what about you?” Her gaze fell to the bulge straining his pants, and his hand curved around it, pumping it twice, and bollocks if Hermione didn’t feel it in between her own thighs. 

“I’m sure you’ll make it up to me later, love.” His mouth curled in a wicked smirk, and Hermione sucked in a hard, sobering breath, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as she watched him feel himself. 

Her senses returned, and she shook her head. “Draco Malfoy! We are at your parents' home! We can’t be—” 

He cut her off, grabbing her wrist and pressing her palm against his length, his hand cupping hers as he moved it up and down slowly. 

“The first time I saw your skirt hike up in the library over a dropped quill, I knew I had to have you. Every time I saw you anywhere, I’d imagine myself buried inside you.” 

Hermione’s thighs pressed together as he spoke. He’d all too quickly found that her kink was dirty talk, which wasn’t at all surprising given her love for language and all that; Draco Malfoy was proficient. 

“In class, I imagined you with your skirt rucked around your hips as I fucked you wildly from behind.” 

Hermione felt her chest tighten in wanton lust, and she couldn’t control herself for another instant as she pulled the buckle of his belt free and made quick work of the button on his trousers. Her hand slipped in his pants and wrapped around his thick member, sliding up and down as he continued. 

“At the Quidditch pitch, I imagined dragging you into the showers—after I decimated your team, of course— and stripping you naked so I could fuck you against the tile. I imagined slipping my hand between your thighs at the breakfast table and taking you over the balcony in the Astronomy Tower so everyone could hear you scream.” 

He wasn’t touching her, but he might as well have been with the way his words triggered something shameful and hot inside her. She picked up a brutal pace on his cock, and after only a minute or so, he was spilling onto the carpet, his hands gripping hard into her hips. 

Pressing his forehead against hers, he moved to capture her in a quick but firm kiss—a kiss with promises for the night ahead. When their lips parted, he stared down at her lovingly. “But for all those fantasies—most of which I’ve made come true, might I add—” he smirked “—there are a few places here in Malfoy Manor where I’ve always wanted to defile you as well. One of those includes having the Golden Gryffindor Lioness splayed out on my bed as I fuck her into oblivion. Think you’ve got it in you, little lion?”

Her teeth cut into her bottom lip, and she arched a brow up at him. “You should know better by now than to challenge me, Malfoy.” 

XXXXX

Draco led her into the parlour, her arm woven through his, and when his mother turned the color of a ripe tomato, she felt him chuckle at her side. 

She’d wound up in the dress provided for her. She hadn’t thought to ask where it came from, as she merely assumed Mrs. Malfoy had procured it for her. However, upon the noticeable narrowing of Narcissa’s eyes on Hermione’s chest, she knew this assumption to be dead wrong. Brilliant. 

“Hermione, you look like you’ve found a brush. Delightful,” Narcissa said with a flat expression as she sucked on a martini glass. “And Draco, do remind me next time I ask you to head to Madame Malkins that you aren’t to be trusted and to send myself instead. Merlin have mercy,” she mumbled the last bit as she moved to sit on the sofa with practiced ease. 

This night, which Hermione had been anxiously awaiting for weeks, was dive-bombing with each passing minute. Bloody hell, could she manage to do a single thing right before it was over?

Draco led her to the sofa and held her fingers lightly as she took her seat next to the lady of the house. She tried her best to mimic all the little details of her posture, the rigidness of her back and how she crossed her ankles. Merlin, help her not to mimic how fast she was sipping on her drink or Hermione would be under the table in no time. 

Lucius made his presence known, taking a regal seat in the high backed chair near the fire. “Tell me more about your family, Miss Granger.” It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t veil it as such, but Draco swiftly came to her aid. 

“Can we not dissect Hermione’s personal life tonight? You know everything you need to know, and what’s more important than all of it is that she’s important to me.  _ Very _ important to me.” 

Hermione smiled softly up at him, and in return, he offered a quick wink before taking his seat and calling for Dobby, from whom he requested a bottle of champagne from the cellar. Dobby was back before the Malfoy’s could continue their line of questioning. 

“I am not dissecting anything, Draco,” Lucius replied with a bored drawl, his forefinger tracing the metal carvings on his walking stick with passive interest. “You wanted us to get to know the girl, did you not? That is how one gets to know another person, through the art of conversation.” 

Draco snorted, handing her a glass of bubbly champagne and then pouring one for himself. 

“Celebrating something, Draco?” Narcissa asked with a sneer, and while Hermione was nearly bursting from her skin with anxiety, Draco merely chuckled. 

“Nothing like whatever you’ve concocted in that brilliant mind of yours, Mother.”

Narcissa’s gaze hardened, and she returned her attention to Hermione. “Draco tells us you’re were sorted into Gryffindor house. How…  _ exhilarating _ . I bet you were quite outnumbered as a pure-blood in that house.” 

If Hermione Granger had not been sorted into Gryffindor, she surely would have made one hell of a Ravenclaw, for all of her intuition flared at the not so subtle prying of Lady Malfoy. 

“Quite the opposite,” Hermione replied as she took a large drink. “One of my best friends was a pure-blood— _ also _ a pure-blood, I mean to say.”

“Oh?” Lucius mused. “And who is this pure-blooded best friend of yours?” 

Draco made a strange shape with his mouth, baring his teeth in warning grimace, but Hermione paid him no mind. 

“Ronald Weasley—” 

At the very mention of the name, Narcissa began spewing and sputtering, wiping at her mouth as though Hermione was sitting in front of her bare-breasted. When she’d composed herself, Narcissa managed an icy glare at her guest, all while Draco chortled manically from the chair next to his father, and Lucius deadpanned. 

“What interesting company you keep, Miss Granger. Tell me, what are your plans now that you’ve finished with Hogwarts?” 

“Oh, I’ve just recently accepted a two-year apprenticeship at the Paris Ministry. I’m hoping to secure a spot back in London in a few years in the International Cooperation Department. I thought a tenure in a foreign—”

“How fascinating,” Narcissa interrupted, although her voice implied differently. “Draco actually passed up a Potions Mastery right here in Wiltshire with one of the most talented potioneers in Britain recently.”

“Is that so?” Hermione asked, draining the rest of her glass. 

“It is.” The elder witch’s voice was clipped. “He turned it down for a less than brilliant opportunity in Paris, of all places. Instead of a one-on-one mentorship, he will be working under some Squib—”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mother, he’s not a Squib.”

“—along with at least two other students. Cleaning cauldrons and stocking shelves. My, it’s what every mother dreams of.” Narcissa pulled her wand out and tapped it once on the edge of her glass, filling it magically from a pitcher on the cart. 

“Mother, we’ve gone over this. And Sir Ian said that the Potions Mastery awaits me when I return to London.” 

“And am I to presume that this will probably be in, oh, I don’t know…” Narcissa’s cool stare cut to Hermione. “Two years?”

Draco chuckled out of the corner of his mouth. “Give or take.” 

It was almost comical watching the lady of the house as she strained in great effort to keep her temper in control. Hermione could feel the sofa vibrating with her rage. 

Thankfully after only a few more prying questions, which Hermione attempted to answer truthfully and Draco side-stepped deftly, Dobby arrived to announce dinner. The four of them moved to the adjacent dining room, and when Draco deposited her in her seat, his thumb ran over the ridge of her knuckles, causing her heart to flutter. 

Dinner was more of the same, although this time it was peppered with long, awkward silences that underscored the palpable tension. 

After the pudding was cleared, Hermione couldn’t have been more thankful to retreat to her bedroom; after breakfast, she would be gone for Paris and awaiting Draco’s arrival in just a few days. 

Their various opportunities were still a fortnight from beginning, but she wouldn’t have turned down two weeks in Paris with Draco for anything. Their keys to their new flat were due to be picked up next week—not that the Malfoys needed to know that—and until then, they would be tangled in the bedsheets of a penthouse at the Regency. 

The two wizards stood, their chairs lightly scraping the hardwood, and they both moved behind their respective witches, helping them from their seats. They left the dining hall in silence and paused once they stood in the grand foyer again. 

“Thank you for a lovely evening,” Hermione said pleasantly, although at this point she wasn’t sure either of them really deserved as much. 

Narcissa merely nodded, while Lucius remained statuesque. “Sleep well. I look forward to seeing you at breakfast.” 

Draco leaned forward to brush his lips against his mother's cheek, and something in her transformed whenever she was given his attention. For all her wild meanderings, she seemed to love her son fiercely. 

“Goodnight.” Hermione nodded a final time and followed Draco’s lead up the staircase yet again. 

“Well, that didn’t go quite as dreadfully as I imagined,” Draco supplied happily and Hermione gave a withering. 

“They hate me.”

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Love, I already told you: you were doomed from the start. They were bound to hate you no matter what. You see.” He began gesticulating, and Hermione already knew what was coming next. “It’s just that I am the apple of their eye. Their sweet baby boy. I’m wealthy, not to mention roguishly good looking—”

“Not to mention gracious and humble,” Hermione teased as they rounded the corner to her room. 

His cheek pulled into a lopsided smirk. “Yes, that too.” With a tender touch, he tucked one of her curls behind her ear, smiling fondly at her. “I’m just down the hall.” He pointed to a door just three down from her, then cupped her cheek, drawing her closer until his lips pillowed hers. 

Involuntarily, her back arched into him, and his free hand rested at the curve of her bum. 

Their lips parted, but he didn’t retreat, instead letting his words fan over her face. “I’m sure your eighteen mattresses will feel awfully lonely without me, though I’m happy to share my bed with you.”

Hermione's chest quivered as she spoke. “Don't be silly—it’s only four or five mattresses.” 

With a bark of a laugh, Draco captured her bottom lip in a kiss, nipping it once with his teeth before releasing her. “Until I see you again, Granger.” 

“Until then,” she agreed, watching his perfectly shaped arse slip into the shadows and away from her. 

XXXXX

Suffice it to say, it didn’t take long for Hermione to decide that she had no intention of staying in this lush room with an obnoxious amount of mattresses. She quickly slipped from her gown, leaving it hanging where she’d found it, and changed into her cream-coloured negligee. 

With a wild fluff of her hair and a quick slap to her cheeks for colour, she was slipping down the hall on her tiptoes towards Draco’s room. She tapped her forefinger on the wood of his door, terrified of alerting any portraits to her risque nighttime activities. 

Despite her knock being barely above the sound of a whisper, the door was quickly whipped open, and Hermione’s mouth ran dry. Draco was sans shirt, his emerald silk pants hanging dangerously low on his chiseled hips. He had one hand braced on the doorframe and the other on the door as he leaned arrogantly onto them. 

“Well, what have we here? Hurry up now, you cheeky witch before someone catches you—” 

She rolled her eyes as she rushed by him, a small yelp escaping her as he swatted are barely covered bottom. 

The door closed and a shimmering veil of magic covered the walls of his room. Silencing charm, Hermione thought to herself. 

She stood in awe as she studied the ornate fixtures of his room, not to mention the sheer opulence of the space. The walls were painted a deep green—no surprise—but the duvet and tapestries were all in black. Somehow, despite the darkness of the decor, it felt decadent. 

When she turned to face him, he was every bit the snake lying in wait, his eyes darkening as they roved her form, and he slid across the floor wordlessly. 

She moaned his name as he grabbed a fistful of her arse, the other one tangling in her hair as he maneuvered her backward toward the balcony. 

“I thought… you said…  _ bed _ .” The last word came out as a wail when his fingers slipped under the seam of her panties and toyed with her clit. 

“Later,” he managed as he pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses on every inch of her he could reach. “First the balcony.” 

Hermoine froze. “You can’t silence a balcony.” 

“No. No, you can not. You’ll have to be extra good for me, love.” 

The warm night air felt delightful against her skin, and as he pulled the knickers down her legs, she stifled a whimper. With a rough pull of his hands, Draco turned her, taking in the spectacular balcony and view for the first time. 

There was no time to properly enjoy it, something she made a mental note to do later, because Draco slipped the straps of her nightie from her shoulders, pooling them at her waist. Her nipples pebbled as they kissed the night air, and Draco’s long fingers toyed the hard peaks until she could feel the gentle throbbing of her sex. 

His palm splayed between her shoulder blades, pressing her down until her hands were braced on the cool iron of the banister. His foot knocked her ankles apart until she widened her stance, and with a flick of his wrist, he lifted the skirt of her negligee, bunching in his fists at her hips. 

“Don’t forget to keep that mouth quiet, Granger.” 

She heard the rustle of his pants pulling down enough to uncover his prick, and he pressed barely into her, just enough to make her keen, and her bum lift to greet him. 

He let out a soft, throaty chuckle, testing the slick of her heat before he slammed inside her. A soft cry escaped her as she bit into her forearm. 

His thrusts were relentless and with each crash of his hips against her arse, she felt herself unhinge, desperate for relief with him buried inside her. 

With a twitch of his wrist, his palm came down swiftly on her rear, earning a small sob that he quickly hushed. “Naughty little witch. I told you to be quiet. Don’t worry, I’ll have you screaming when you’re bouncing on my cock later.”

His hand slid between her parted thighs and massaged her clit until she was shaking through an orgasm that made her knees give out as she bit into the muscle of her forearm to keep from crying out. 

“Good girl,” he growled as he picked up a feverish pace, following her in release just a few thrusts later. 

His hips twitched as his palm rubbed the spot he had slapped on her arse while he slid from her folds. 

Hermione had a hard time standing up straight as euphoria still coursed through her blood. He pulled her up, winding his arms around her as he kissed her deeply. His tongue darted out to taste the curve of her bottom lip, and she parted easily for him, their tongues brushed together in a practiced dance. 

“I love you,” he whispered as the kiss ended and again her back curved into him, her breasts pressing against his chest. 

She kissed him firmly once more. “I love you too. Now take me to bed. I can’t possibly climb up all those mattresses tonight.” 

XXXXX

As the sunrise filled Draco’s bedroom, the soft breeze filtering through the open doors of his balcony, Hermione startled awake. 

They’d spent nearly the entire night tangled in the sheets, but despite being a bit sore between the thighs, she hadn’t slept this well in months. Her palm came down squarely on Draco’s firm chest, and his eyes flew open, a harsh breath exploding from his lips. 

“Damn, Granger!” 

“Check the hall so I can sneak back to my room and get ready! I don’t need another reason for your mother to hate me!”

Draco rubbed the sleep from his eyes with a groan and then crawled to the edge of his massive bed. “To be fair, my father hates you too.” 

Hermione made a fussy little noise as she reached for an oversized t-shirt and padded towards the door. 

Peeking through the door, Draco released a loud yawn and opened it widely. “Hurry up, Granger!” He gave her a playful little swat as she smiled over her shoulder, and she slid down the hall towards her own room. 

XXXXX

She couldn’t quell the hammering in her heart as she and Draco approached the sunroom, where Narcissa had decided to host breakfast. 

“They’ll know,” she warned as he threaded his fingers through hers. 

He chuckled softly and shrugged. “Probably. But Paris on Monday, love. Who cares what these kooky old bats think?”

“Draco.” Narcissa’s brow arched. “I assume you were talking of—” her voice lilted at the end like a question, and Draco blushed. 

“Just the teachers at Hogwarts, Mother. Good morning.”

“And you,” Narcissa said curtly, her brow raising severely. “How did you sleep?”

There was something about her question that felt loaded, but Hermione couldn’t make sense of it. She tilted her head to the side, her fingers tightening on Draco’s.

“I slept wonderfully, thank you,” she said with a smile. “Breakfast smells delicious.” 

“You—” Narcissa huffed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “You did?” Her voice was incredulous, and her brows pinched tightly together. 

Hermione and Draco shared a happy, knowing look, and she chuckled slightly, a blush staining her cheeks. “Quite well. I never would have imagined all those mattresses being so comfortable, but I slept beautifully.” 

The elder witch’s lips formed various shapes as she searched for words in a strange moment of speechlessness. “Well— well that’s wonderful to hear.” 

Her blue eyes clouded for a moment, blinking a few times before looking back at Hermione with a renewed smile. 

“Yes,” Hermione giggled. “I suppose it is.” 

“Draco, you have found yourself quite the witch. I’m so pleased for you both.” There was kindness tinging her eyes, and Hermione felt her heart stutter for a moment in her ribs. “Let’s eat, shall we? Lucius is on his way down now.”

“Thanks, Mum.” Draco kissed her on the cheek as he took a seat at the small breakfast table, and Narcissa beamed, turning towards Hermione. 

Slipping her arm around Hermione, Narcissa tugged her towards the table. “You’ve passed the test, my dear. Welcome to the family.”

Hermione shot a bewildered glance at Draco, who was already biting into a morning bun and shrugged. Hermione supposed she would just have to take what she could get. 

  
  



End file.
